Gun Sage

  Gun Sage

  Skyler Grant

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Author’s Notes

  Also by Skyler Grant

  Copyright © 2019 Skyler Grant

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to skyler@skylergrant.com

  Cover designed by Kasmit Covers

  Electronic edition, 2019

  If you want to be notified of future releases from me and get the occasional goodie and free story please sign up for my mailing list at the link below. I hate spam as much as you do.

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  1

  "Cherapol is one of the most undesirable planets in the Genrol expanse. Early colonization efforts showed promising yields of both rare minerals and spirit energy of interest to both the Brontin Empire and the Chui Dynasty, enough that both established small colonies. The supplies of both proved to be overestimate. These days the only things Cherapol has in great quantities is poverty, dust, and criminals." Andrelev's Guide to the Expanse

  "Time to wake up. You've got a little over an hour until your location goes public."

  Van rubbed at his eyes, they felt weird. Everything about him felt weird, as if he'd drunk too much the night before. Perhaps he had—the room wasn't familiar. A tiny cubicle with gray steel walls, a sink, and table. Van was naked and on some sort of long bench.

  "Who are you?" Van asked, his throat scratchy and dry.

  "The important question is—who are you? Do you remember?"

  The voice seemed to be coming from a speaker on one wall. What a ridiculous question, of course Van remembered who he was.

  "I'm Van Draya, a serf on the Hoff estate. Where am I? Where are my clothes?"

  "You're both right—and oh, so very wrong. You are a clone of Van Draya, the Red Death, the Gun Sage."

  Those were names Van had never heard and that he couldn't imagine applying to him. Van had fired guns. All young men did in case the lord of the lands called on them to serve in his army. But he was mostly a farmer.

  "I think you might have gotten the wrong Van Draya," Van said.

  "On that much you're right, but you're the one I've got. You've no memory of the cloning?"

  Van's memory was definitely cloudy in spots. Especially if he tried to recall recent events. Still, they were nothing that would fit being cloned—just flashes of working on the farm, of drinking in the tavern.

  "No," Van said.

  "Well, that is normal. You won't have lost much that is important. Your mental patterns have been stored a long time. It has been over five centuries since what you remember existed. Get up, we need to get you moving."

  Five centuries? That didn't even make sense. Van's muscles protested as he sat up. One of his hands caught his attention. On his right hand he'd suffered a nasty cut when he was younger. Enough it had left a scar along his thumb. It wasn't there.

  "Don't go silent on me now. Get some water in you. There are clothes on the table, get dressed."

  "Even if I am a clone, why would anyone bring back a farmer who died five centuries ago?" Van asked.

  "Did you miss the part about Gun Sage? Never mind, you won't even know what that means. You—your counterpart—didn't die five centuries ago. He died three days ago. Get dressed."

  The clothing laid out was unusual and heavy. There were thick plates of some sort of ceramic overlaying the cloth. Van tapped one and it gave a dull thud. The garments looked as strange as this whole situation, but Van would rather face things clothed in these than naked. At least getting dressed was something he could do.

  "How is that possible?" Van asked.

  "While I have all the time in the world to explain everything, you don't. Cherapol doesn't have much in the way of cloning these days and once it goes public someone was cloned, you're going to get attention. Attention that wants to figure out who paid to bring you back, and how much they'll pay for your hide intact."

  Van decided he could put his questions aside for the moment. If the voice was telling the truth, there was a threat and he needed to move.

  The clothes fit him perfectly, although the weight was uncomfortable. He discovered beneath them on the table was a belt with a set of double holsters, a pistol in each.

  "Your pistols. They weren't his, but he left them for you and they should last you a long time. Spirit-woven steel, forty-five caliber, six chambers, and a channeling capacitor. You won't understand what all that means, just trust me that they are works of art. Lose a limb before you lose one of these guns, because it will be easier to replace."

  Van slipped the belt around his waist and fastened it before he drew one of the pistols. It was hefty but balanced, the grip perfectly fitted for his hand.

  "We need to get you off-world and fast. The plan had always been, if you got awakened, someone would be there to meet you, but that can't happen. You're going to need to get off-world on your own."

  "Then buy me a ticket," Van said.

  "Not that simple. Travel to and from Cherapol is restricted right now. Not just anyone can come and go. You are going to need a bounty hunters license. The Guild is always looking for talent. There is a bounty locally that will satisfy. You are hunting one Migo Dantoyo. Him and his gang botched a mail robbery two systems over. Armed, dangerous, but not spirit-users. Capturing him alive is preferred, but we might be able to make a corpse work."

  "You want me to fight a gang? Alone?"

  "Fight them—or be sneaky, I don't care how you do it. Survive the people hunting you, bring Migo Dantoyo to the county office, then request a license and passage to Creno in lieu of payment. Whatever you do, no genetic scans. Not the Guild, nobody."

  "You're testing me," Van said.

  "Maybe you've got the seed of the man we knew in you, maybe you cooked up all wrong in the vat and we need another clone. Do it, or don't, your call. If you pull it off we'll be waiting for you on Creno."

  There was a crackle and the voice cut off. A door in the wall of the cubicle hissed open.

  2

  New You Cloning — Don't let death be a downer! Come back as you were or upgrade yourself with any of our deluxe packages!

  The door was the last in the hall, the others l
ining it closed. The corridor was narrow with cramped steel walls and just numbers on the doors.

  The hallway opened into a room dominated by a reception desk. The lights were only half operational and a few still holding onto life flickered. A screen lit up at Van's approach and flashed 'Sign out'.

  There wasn't an exit. He guessed it was concealed until he did as instructed. Van walked over the screen and with a fingertip scrawled an indecipherable signature. It made sense to leave as little detail as possible.

  The screen flashed green and another door slid open to allow painfully bright sunlight to stream into the room.

  Van went through and found himself outside a building that was half buried by sand. Faded lettering was on the doors, and the elements had blasted it away to such an extent he couldn't read it. There was the nose of a starship jutting out of a dune nearby. Two suns burned in the sky, one large and with a distinctly reddish hue and the other yellow. This wasn't Naxon, the planet he remembered as home.

  Van wasn't sure about the instructions he'd been given. An anonymous voice from a speaker didn't exactly inspire confidence. Still, it wasn't as if he had anything else to guide his life right now. It hurt nothing to assume the voice spoke the truth until he could prove otherwise.

  That meant Van had a few priorities. Getting to civilization was one, because staying out here in the desert would kill him quickly. Another was not leaving any tracks that might show where he had come from—if he could.

  If there was a city, or signpost as to where one might be, Van didn't see it. There was a fair bit of wreckage, twisted debris poking out of the sand. The only thing that really looked like a building was the one he'd come out of—and that door was now sealed.

  What Van needed was higher ground and that at least he could find. Van found a metal panel and pulled it free. As he walked Van dragged it behind him, letting the sheet flatten out his tracks. It left a trail of its own, but one less distinctive than footprints and he hoped the wind would eventually erase even that. It was slow going, taking him about fifteen minutes to reach the hulk of an abandoned starship.

  Up close it was clear the starship had long ago been picked clean of anything valuable. There were struts and hull plating, but everything that could be easily hauled away had been. Ladders were built into the hull in places.

  The heat of the twin suns was merciless and climbing was particularly hard given the weight and the bulk of his clothing—or armor, as he'd decided it must be. It was worth the effort. Once he'd gotten high enough to look over the nearest dunes he could see a good distance in all directions.

  North and south weren't meaningful here to Van. While this planet surely had them, he didn't have a clue how to determine where they were. The suns were his best tool to track his position.

  Just on his walk here he'd seen minor changes. The yellow sun seemed to be starting to set in one direction and the red was rising in another.

  Towards the red sun was what looked like a settlement. None of the structures were very tall, but there were a lot of them. Traces of movement among them were visible.

  There was a lake in another direction and what looked like a few structures there as well. Then, elsewhere, were a few reddish mountains. He saw no signs life. However, where there were mountains there might be caves hiding any occupants.

  The town was the obvious destination. Not only did it seem to have people, but it was the easiest to find. If Van hurried—although that meant discarding the panel disguising his tracks—he might be able to reach it before the red sun reached its zenith.

  Van knew how easy it was to get lost in the wilderness, even in terrain you knew well, unless you had something to guide you. You could believe that you were moving in a straight line, yet circle back endlessly upon yourself.

  Back on Naxon he knew a lot of ways to help avoid this, from the way moss grew on stones to how a Zixbunny would jump when startled. In this alien environment getting lost would be very easy for him to do, and from the looks of his surroundings it would almost certainly be fatal.

  Van had already obscured his tracks this far from the building, it would have to be enough. At this point the chance of getting lost was more a danger than anybody who might be hunting him.

  Van climbed down and took a moment to orient himself with the sun, and then took off walking. Running made no sense, the sand didn't give a lot of traction and in the heat he'd have exhausted himself too quickly.

  His body was holding up well, better than it should have. Van didn't know much about cloning. It was a service for the wealthy, and if there was one thing Van remembered clearly, he wasn't rich. Perhaps they had done something to improve his physical fitness? Whatever it was, he was grateful for it.

  Van didn't reach the town as quick as he'd hoped. After two hours the red sun reached its zenith and he had to wait another hour until he could be certain of the way it was moving, allowing him to reorient himself and continue.

  It was an hour after that when he crested a dune and saw a town stretched out before him.

  3

  Horseflex, your solution to all your transportation needs. Bio-engineered for any environment, man’s classic companion is just what your colony needs to help your low-skilled workers get around. Another fine product of Genetix, the people that brought you Baby in a Bottle.

  The town was occupied, which was good news. If it had been abandoned or derelict, thirst would have soon been a real concern for Van. Most buildings were made out of brick or stucco—no surprise given the sand everywhere. There were a lot of horses, the men riding or leading them wearing mostly flannel shirts, wide-brimmed hats, and boots. Nearly everyone was armed. Most of the women Van could see were in different sorts of dresses, although a few were dressed like the men. There were also, here and there, people dressed in robes and who looked a good bit different to the others.

  Van cut a different sort of figure. However, he didn't stand out as much as he might have feared. While his armor wasn't exactly commonplace here, the fact that the men looked so ready for a fight meant that some probably were wearing protective covering beneath their clothing. More importantly, his pistols wouldn't draw attention.

  On Naxon only nobility had been allowed to go around armed at all times. Van did have his opportunities to practice with weapons, but it was only under a watchful eye.

  Van headed down the dune and into town.

  "Howdy," said the first man he passed, tipping the brim of his hat.

  Van nodded and returned the welcome. The next three men he passed all greeted him the same way. Van decided that he'd have to get himself a hat. More than his armor, the lack of having one seemed to set him apart.

  The main street was lined with businesses. One had a sign that read 'Hotel' another 'General Store'. There were stables, an assay office, hotel, and a saloon.

  Van checked his pockets and didn't seem to have any of whatever they used for currency. What he mostly had was ammunition, and while that would maybe prove useful at some point in time, it wouldn't keep dehydration away unless he wanted to turn to banditry.

  Van headed for the saloon. Even if he lacked funds, it would at least be a gathering spot.

  Double doors swung wide as he entered. A pianist was playing a jaunty tune on a battered piano in the back, and tables and a long bar were filled with rough-looking sorts drinking away. In a corner there seemed to be a game of cards going on, and a number of women dressed revealingly looked down from a balcony.

  Van got a lot of hard looks upon his entry. After a moment most of those turned back to their business.

  A woman approached, a fit-looking brunette in a low-cut bodice. "Well, don't you look ready to go shooting up the place? Here for a good-time, handsome, or did you just come for the drinks?"

  "Little poor for either. Was hoping to find a fix to that," Van said.

  The woman looked him up and down. "I see. I'm Alexa, come on back."

  Van followed Alexa as she led him up the stairs, steppin
g through a door near the end of the hall. It wasn't a bedroom as he'd expected. Instead there was a desk with a few chairs behind it.

  Alexa poured out three glasses, one from a flask and two from a bottle, and pushed two of them across the table. "Water and whiskey. You look parched. With that gear you aren't raising cows or mixing bricks. If you were a bandit, you wouldn't be looking for work. Mercenary? Bounty hunter?"

  "Mercenary looking to become a bounty hunter," Van said. While he was wary of sharing the truth, he didn't see any point to lying right now.

  Alexa grunted and chugged back her whiskey. Van settled for his water at first, his throat so dry he had to take it slow.

  "Then I'm a friend you want. I know this area, I know all the people in it," Alexa said.

  "Then why'd you approach me? A total stranger?"

  "Because this is my place, you're armed, well-equipped, and not a local. I wanted to find out what you were up to. Got a name you're hoping to hunt?" Alexa asked.

  "Migo Dantoyo," Van said, taking a sip of his whiskey. It was strong stuff and his throat burned.

  "Ah," Alexa said. "You've got your work cut out for you. I can point you in the right direction. You help me solve my problems, I help you solve yours."

  "Depends on what you need."